


What We're Made Of

by solohux



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solohux/pseuds/solohux
Summary: On the morning of your 5th birthday, you'll wake up with a new toy beside you, one that is made in the image of your destined soulmate. Young Ben has a little wooden General with orange hair and a woolly greatcoat that matches his little cap, whilst young Armitage has a soft plush of a Jedi, one with soft dark hair and two brown buttons for eyes.The two boys are happy with their new toys. Their families, however, are not. It shapes them.(a Kylux Mini Bang project with amazing art created by@5ovspades)
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 79
Kudos: 371
Collections: Kylux Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S DONE ♡
> 
> It's been a long time since I've been able to get through a fic like this and be happy with the finished project so it feels amazing to be able to post this here!
> 
> The artist, [@5ovspades](http://5ovspades.tumblr.com/), has been absolutely incredible to work with and I'm still in awe of their pieces of art for this collaboration. They're so lovely and talented and I feel so lucky to have been paired with them for the Mini Bang! Please, go and follow them! [@5ovspades's tumblr](http://5ovspades.tumblr.com/) / [@5ovspades's twitter](https://twitter.com/5ovspades)
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this fic!

Birthdays have never been happy occasions for Armitage Hux. Granted, he’s only had four of them so far but each have been identical to the day before; no balloons, no well-wishes, no presents. It was only _last_ year, when he was turning four years old, that he found out what the word ‘birthday’ meant, having only ever heard it coming from his father’s mouth, followed by lots of drinking and loud laughter from him and his cohort of Imperial friends in the drawing room of Brendol’s Arkanis manor-home. It fell on Mother’s thin, neglected shoulders to explain _birthdays_ to him as she snuck into his bedroom one cold autumnal night when the _important_ folk of the Hux manor were in the throes of sleep and only the servants remained awake.

The one thing that a kitchen woman has plenty of access to is food, and a sweet feast was smuggled into Armitage’s tiny, box-sized bedroom as gifts for him, though she had to explain what this little celebration actually _meant._

“It’s the day you were _born,_ Armitage,” Mother had said, wiping a smudge of poppaberry jam from his freckled cheek as he stuffed his mouth with a sweet tartlet. “The day you took your first breath in this galaxy. I remember it as though it were yesterday, my sunshine.”

It isn’t until Armitage is much older that he finds out that his mother likely remembers his day of birth for the wrong reasons; for having her newborn baby boy ripped from her arms and given to his callous father who _promised_ her that she would never see their weak boy again. Her defiant soul and her love for her son had kept her occasional visits to Armitage’s tiny bedroom a secret, though Brendol’s overconfidence in his warning to her played a part too.

The next year passes slowly on Arkanis, almost every day overcast and drizzling, but as the leaves on the trees begin to turn copper once again, Armitage becomes excited. Autumn is his favourite season for a number of reasons but the main one being is that his birthday approaches—tomorrow. It’s the middle of the ninth month on Arkanis, bringing colder weather along with the usual rain but Armitage’s excitement won’t be dampened by his homeworld’s miserable climate. He skips home from his tutor’s class, jumping over cracks in the pavement and stomping on crisp, fallen leaves, all under the watchful eyes of his NAN-E droid.

“ _You are demonstrating signs of glee_. _Have you had a good day, Master Armitage?”_ NAN-E says, following closely behind. The droid is similar to that of an old Republic droid, a GH-7 medical droid with its square torso and three dexterous arms—two in humanoid shape and the third hidden away in its chest compartment—and a rectangular, boxed-shaped head with a sloping cranium and two headlamp-like eyes that have caught little Armitage out of his bed late at night many a time. But with no legs, NAN-E instead has a silent, micro-thruster that allows it to travel without hindrance, even able to mimic a humanlike sprint if required. It floats just above the ground, carrying its charge’s heavy book-bag for him.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow, Nanny,” Armitage says, jumping in a puddle, soaking his little black boots and his grey knee-high socks. “I’m going to be 5.”

“ _5 years old,”_ NAN-E chirps in its vaguely male-programmed voice. “ _And what is the probability of you receiving a toy upon your pillow?”_

“What?” Armitage laughs. “Your wires are fried, Nanny. You’re not making any sense!”

“ _Forgive me, Master Armitage, but I am incapable of being nonsensical,”_ NAN-E announces, catching up with the boy to take his hand as the approach a busy road with speeders flying up and down the street. Once they’ve crossed safely and into the public park that marks the final leg of the route from the Academy to the Hux estate, Armitage wriggles free of the droid’s hold and resumes his stomping in puddles.

“A toy on my pillow?” Armitage asks, still intrigued.

“ _Yes, little one. On one’s fifth birthday, their soulmate is revealed to them.”_

Armitage stops in his tracks, feeling shivery all of a sudden. He’s never heard that word before, _soulmate,_ but it makes his tummy feel like there are butterflies in there and it makes his fingertips tingly. NAN-E floats past him, carrying on with its programmed journey.

“A soulmate? What’s that, Nanny?” Armitage catches up with his droid and takes its hand, staring up into its unblinking eye-lights. “How? Why?”

“ _Accessing HoloNet findings for ‘soulmates.’ Question: how? All sentient creatures are born with soulmates, a person who is half of their living spirit, someone who has been created just for them. On their fifth birthdays, they awake one year older but with a toy beside them, one that is created in the image of their soulmate. It is a clue to find one’s other half in order to achieve true happiness.”_ NAN-E’s processors make a distressed whirring sound for a moment before it speaks again. “ _Accessing HoloNet findings for ‘soulmates’. Question: why? Search results are negative.”_

Armitage looks down to the ground, walking without thinking of anything but that of what he’s just learned; _soulmates._ It’s a completely new word for his vocabulary, having never heard of a soulmate before but now, it’s all he can think about. _Soul. Mate._ Someone who is half of himself? Armitage pats his chest with his little fingers, unsure of how he can be _half_ of something when he feels whole, but he doesn’t question it; he’s been taught not to question what he is told, yet his mind races with a million possibilities of who this person is and what they look like. For Armitage, one thing is certain; he isn’t going to be alone anymore.

But once he’s home and he’s commanded to explain his happiness to Brendol, his father chortles with outrageous laughter when the boy makes a comment about it being the eve of his firth birthday and questions why the other pre-cadets in his class talk of cake and presents when it’s _their_ birthday. The Commandant escorts his son to his bedroom in the imposing, concrete monster that calls itself the _Hux Estate,_ NAN-E following the two up the staircase.

“Being born is not _your_ achievement, boy,” Brendol scoffs, his figure tall and intimidating beside Armitage’s underweight form. Once upon the third and top floor, he opens the only unlocked door on this level and gives his son a shove into his room for the night—a small, box-shaped room with a single ceiling-to-floor window, a child’s sized bed and an upturned crate beside the bed with an old lamp atop it. It certainly isn’t much but it’s the only place in the galaxy where Armitage feels safe. “It is the parents. And since your _mother_ is just as useless as you are, _I_ should be the one celebrating tomorrow but _you_ certainly shall _not._ Now, get to bed.”

“Oh,” Armitage says, messing with his long sleeves. “Er…Father?”

“What, Armitage?”

“What’s a soulmate?”

The evening rain hammers against the window. The air turns frosty. Armitage can only stare at the back of his father’s head and watch his neck turn red in furiousness, matching the colours of his puffed-out cheeks as he turns back around. His shadow casts a horrible form around Armitage, making him cower in the sudden darkness.

“ _Where_ did you hear that word?” His voice is immediately raised into angered and loud tones which makes the boy cower; Brendol is so angry that Armitage can see his eyes turning bloodshot.

“I—I…I d-don’t…”

“Spit it out, child! Stutter, stutter, _stutter_! You’ll _never_ be the great orator that I want you to be. Pathetic boy. Speak, now!”

“It was Nanny!” Armitage pulls his sleeves over his hands and pushes them against his mouth in fear. “N-Nanny told m-me about soulmates. It said that I-I’m going to get a special present tomorrow because it’s m-my birthday and it will look l-like my soulmate. I-I’m sorry, Father!”

Brendol falls eerily silent. He grumbles as he exhales forcefully through his nose, expelling his anger. Armitage expects another outburst but after a long few seconds pass without his father uttering a word and the red, furious blush disappearing from his cheeks, Armitage wonders if he’s managed to escape his father’s wrath for another day.

But Brendol still glares down at his son, “I will not have any offspring of mine become compromised by the ridiculous notion of _soulmates._ If I hear that word uttered by you again, Armitage, then there will be consequences. _Severe_ consequences. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you _do_ wake up with something on your pillow in the morning— _pah_!—then you are to give it to _me_ immediately. You will not be seen to be snivelling over a _toy._ ”

Armitage’s little heart sinks. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Into bed with you.”

Armitage knows better than to ask another question. Instead, he does as his father orders and changes into his sleep-clothes, ignoring the hungry rumble in his belly and the ache in his heart. He jumps when his bedroom door is slammed closed though he’s thankful that Brendol’s cold stare has finally left him, albeit the lingering chill on his skin from such chastising.

The boy folds up his cadet uniform and leaves it neatly on the floor beside his bed all ready for another day at the academy tomorrow—his birthday. Despite Brendol’s warnings, a firework of glee bursts in Armitage’s belly at the thought of it being _his_ day tomorrow. Maybe it’ll mean a visit from Mama, who’ll hug him and kiss him and tell him how special he is, perhaps even bring a sweet treat or two.

As he hops up into bed and snuggles down beneath the navy sheets, he grabs cuddling his favourite stuffed teddy bear from where it hides under his pillow, made by his mother’s own hands—a folded and knitted soft toy created from one of her aprons with buttons sewn onto him for eyes. Brendol’s angered words and the horrid sound of his slamming door is still palpable in the air of his little room. He looks at the empty space on his pillow and imagines a new toy there, made in his soulmate’s image. Would there be any way of hiding it from Brendol? Nanny said that a soulmate is someone who has been created just for him; how is Armitage meant to give _that_ up? His first friend! Perhaps his _only_ friend if father is insistent on him becoming a boring officer.

From behind his closed door, Brendol’s voice carries through and makes the boy’s stomach twist anxiously, “Fetch me that damned NAN-E droid _now_.”

After today, Armitage won’t see Nanny ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chandrila is beautiful, even in the winter. The tall, elegant buildings of Hanna City grace the pale blue sky, kissing the snow-filled clouds that dance overhead. In the top-floor deluxe suite of the lavish Liana Complex, Ben Solo is waking up to the gentle sounds of his mother’s humming, of her fingers brushing through his unruly dark hair, and the smell of warm panna cakes cooking.

It’s his fifth birthday. And Ben _knows_ what awaits him upon his pillow.

“Good morning, Ben,” Leia whispers softly when he stirs, blinking awake in the warm yellow light of Chandrila’s sunrise. “And happy birthday.”

Ben comes into wakefulness all at once, leaping up in his bed and throwing himself into his mother’s arms where she holds him tight and kisses the top of his head. He’s smiling so widely that his cheeks begin to hurt but it doesn’t matter; he’s been waiting for this day for months now, ever since Uncle Luke told him the story of how soulmates came to be.

“My toy?” Ben says, twisting free of Leia’s hold to look back upon his pillow, heartbroken when he sees nothing there. “Mama?”

“Hold on, Ben. It’s alright, it’s alright. I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” Leia says, obviously seeing the tears rising in his dark eyes. “Maybe it’s fallen into your bed in the night? Or onto the floor?”

Ben’s soul is set alight with hope. He jumps down from Leia’s lap and darts around the other side of his bed, his little bare feet shuffling across the warm carpet until he skids to a halt in sheer relief and excitement. Lying face-up on the floor beside his bed is his soulmate sign, and Ben’s eyes light up with wonder.

It’s a wooden toy shaped like a human, tall; if it were standing, it’s likely the height of little Ben’s knee! Faceless, but he has a head of fuzzy ginger hair that’s flattened underneath a grey cap, the same grey of the long greatcoat that it wears, with circles of white around one of the sleeves and a strange, unfamiliar hexagonal symbol on the upper arm. Ben picks up the toy and stares at it, feeling something stirring inside of him, thinking that it’s just hunger but it’s more than any child could comprehend; his stars are aligning.

“Is it there, sweetheart?” Leia says, coming to crouch behind him.

“Look, Mama! He’s mine! My soulmate!”

But his mother’s reaction isn’t what Ben was expecting. All of Ben’s family have been excited for him and his birthday, all guessing what type of toy he’ll wake up with, but none of them predicted a red-haired man in a uniform. Leia thought that her son may have a Jedi soulmate, perhaps a gutsy padawan learner somewhere across the galaxy who would guide her son in the ways of the Force, Han had been a little coarse and wanted a pretty, exotic dancer for his son’s soulmate which made Leia and Luke roll their eyes before Luke chimed in with something more concrete and confessed that Ben’s future looks very clouded, including that of his soulmate.

And now, as Leia stares at the toy, taking it from Ben’s hand when he offers it to her, she fears that her brother may be correct, but Ben is unaware of his mother’s fears as he’s jumping up and down around her with uncontrollable glee.

“Han,” Leia calls in a panicked tone, though Ben is too excited to notice. “Get in here.”

And not a moment later, Han swaggers in with a hot plate of panna cakes in his hand with the word ‘B E N’ written in poor penmanship in syrup upon them, his hips swaying as he puts on a performance as though he’s on a catwalk. It makes Ben squeal with laughter.

“Birthday boy!” Han sings, setting the plate down on the bedside table before sweeping his son up into his arms and holding him high as though he’s flying. “My little starpilot is five!”

“I got a toy, Daddy! Look!” Ben points to Leia, who’s now standing and holding up the little wooden toy with a disgruntled look on her face. Han studies it, squinting, before his expression matches that of his wife’s.

“That ain’t an exotic dancer,” Han jokes but quickly returns to seriousness when Leia raises an eyebrow at him. “It looks like a military man.”

“An Imperial officer,” Leia corrects. “Without a _doubt._ Look at the lines of rank on his sleeve. A General.”

“My General!” Ben shouts, squirming free of Han’s hold to jump onto his bed and take his toy from Leia’s hands, hugging it so close to his chest that he knocks the General’s little hat from his head. He digs into his birthday breakfast, getting the golden syrup all over his cheeks as he eats and chats away to his toy as though catching him up on everything that he’s missed, like two old friends reuniting.

Han and Leia watch nervously, looking to their son and then to the red-haired General in his arms.

A chill runs across Leia’s skin; darkness surrounds Ben’s soulmate-sign, lingering around her son like a fog that only she can see. She’ll consult Luke, of course, but for now, she allows Ben to exist in his happy bubble of bliss, unaware that his soulmate is the very thing that his mother and father fought to destroy.


	3. Chapter 3

Rain patters down upon the one, large window in Armitage’s bedroom as the two Arkanisian suns rise for another sodden day in the capital city just like any other day. Armitage has hardly slept, sniffling all night long whilst cuddling his favourite stuffed teddy bear with only the thought of his soulmate comforting him but he wakes with quelled excitement, rolling over in his bed and coming face-to-face with a new toy.

Armitage gasps, sitting up and immediately taking the toy into his little hands. It’s a plush toy, soft and squishy; it makes him smile. The toy has messy dark hair and a pair of brown buttons for eyes, a strange braid behind one of its cutely large ears. It’s dressed in a brown tunic with a belt around the middle—and attached to the belt is the unmistakable form of a blue, plush-like lightsaber, a weapon that Armitage has seen in his History classes at the academy. Armitage’s soulmate is a Jedi, and all of the cadets are taught that Jedi are _bad_.

But _this_ Jedi doesn’t look bad. He doesn’t look like anything but a friend.

“Hello,” Armitage says quietly, setting the Jedi down upon his bed and bringing his knees up to his chest. “I’m Armitage. You’re my soulmate, then. I like your funny braid.”

He half-expects the toy to begin speaking to him, thinking that if perhaps he wishes for it hard enough, the toy _will_ begin talking to him and he won’t be so lonely anymore. But the Jedi stares back at him with his cute button eyes though he looks as though he’s listening so Armitage keeps talking to him, quietly, telling the toy all about himself—about his likes and dislikes, about his mother and father and Maratelle, about what he learns at school. It’s the first time in his life that someone has listened to what Armitage has got to say.

But sounds of approaching footsteps interrupt Armitage’s chattering and he panics, shoving his Jedi underneath his pillow in fear that Brendol is going to barge in and steal him from him, leaving the boy alone again. But the door doesn’t fling open as it does whenever father comes to him; instead, the doorknob turns carefully and the light from the hallway gently enters his little room before the familiar silhouette of his mother follows it.

“Mother,” Armitage smiles, kneeling up to greet her. She looks tired, worn out by her night shifts in the kitchens but she still puts on a smile for him and welcomes him into her arms when he reaches his hands out to her. Her long, braided and copper-coloured hair rests over her shoulder and tickles Armitage’s nose as he buries his face into her, liking how she smells of the freshly baked bread of the morning.

“Happy birthday, my precious one,” she says quietly, kissing his cheek. “I didn’t think you would be awake so early. I’ve got something for you.”

She reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out something that’s wrapped in a serviette but the neat, considerate packaging does nothing to disguise the delicious smell that’s permeating from inside. Armitage unwraps it eagerly as he sits back down in his bed, his tummy rumbling just from the heavenly scent of his mother’s baking. Inside sits a freshly made pastry in a swirl shape, dotted with blueberries and dusted with sugar.

“Thank you!” Armitage looks to his mother with wide eyes and begins to eat it, taking a big bite and stuffing his cheeks full of the warm treat until it’s difficult for him to chew.

“Armie,” his mother laughs, using the napkin to clear the sugar from his lips. “Smaller bites, darling, hm? We don’t want you being sick on your birthday!” He nods, though he doesn’t regret shoving his mouth full. “Oh, my! And is this your soulmate toy?”

“Mm hmm!”

She reaches for the toy and examines it, pretending to shake his hand, “Hello, Mr Jedi. I’m Nola, Armitage’s mother. It’s very nice to meet you at last. You’ll…You’ll look after my boy, won’t you? You’ll keep him safe and treat him nicely—”

Booming footsteps echo across the estate’s third floor, making Armitage tremble. He finishes off the rest of the pastry with hurried chews and swallows hard, wiping his face on his blanket just before Brendol practically punches the door open, making it swing so widely that it could have snapped from its hinges.

“Woman!” He bellows, marching into the room. Armitage’s mother stands tall, her hands by her sides. “How _dare_ you enter my son’s room without permission! Call me _senile_ but I thought a kitchen woman belongs in the kitchen.”

“Just as a pig belongs in a pen,” she retorts back quickly, standing tall between Brendol and Armitage, her glorious red hair catching the light from the open door and making it look like a crown upon her head; Armitage stares at her in awe.

“Wench!” Brendol growls, making the boy jump in fright and makes him cower. “You forget your place!”

Armitage’s mother looks back over her shoulder to her son, reaching her own hand behind herself to reach for him and comfort him. Once his little hand is in hers, she turns back to Brendol, “My place is with _our_ son on his birthday. You’d deny him a moment of his day with his mother?”

“ _Mother_? Foolish girl. You were merely a womb for my heir.”

The venom in Brendol’s words cuts Armitage deep even if he isn’t sure what those words mean. His mother, on the other hand, still stands tall between her son and her superior, staring at him with her cold, pale eyes.

“And what would your _wife_ think of that, Brendol? Hm?” Armitage’s mother takes a step closer to him, brave and unyielding, her hand still holding onto Armitage’s. “Maratelle still believes that you _adopted_ the boy, doesn’t she? What if she were to find out about our _passionate_ night?”

Armitage has never seen his father so lost for words. He peers around his mother’s body to see Brendol’s expression, faltering and reeling, obviously taken aback by someone speaking to him in the same way that _he_ speaks to his subordinates; crudely and without respect. Perhaps it’s the very first time in his military career that someone has barked back at him—and barked _louder_ than him.

“I suggest you remember where you came from, woman. You, and your precious son,” Brendol mutters, setting his jaw from side-to-side as though barely containing his anger. “I have given the bastard child a life that many children would be glad of. He will not be made _soft_ by you or any of this _soulmate_ nonsense.”

“Then you’ll be glad to hear that Armitage hasn’t _got_ a soulmate,” Armitage’s mother says. “He woke up without a toy so he was upset. I was comforting him, if you must know.”

Armitage’s tummy sinks as Brendol’s smile grows. No soulmate? Then what was the little Jedi toy that has gifted itself to him this morning? He pulls his hand free from Mother’s hold and looks around his bed, throwing back the covers to try to find his Jedi friend but can’t. _No._ Where is he? He was here!

“No soulmate, hm? Good. Very good,” Brendol chortles. “No _love_ to make him weak. What excellent news. Alone forever, hm, boy?”

“I…” Armitage’s lip trembles. This can’t be. All of the elation that filled his heart just moments ago has left him, melting into disappointment.

“If that’s all, woman, then I suggest you aid him to get ready for class,” Brendol huffs, turning his back on the pair. “You have twenty minutes.”

“He will be ready, sir,” she says in an almost-condescending tone, though Brendol is out of the door by the time she speaks.

With Brendol gone, silence resumes. Armitage holds back his tears as he draws his knees up to his chest and thinks about his lost toy, wondering whether it was all a dream because he wanted it so badly.

“M-Mother?” Armitage sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “My…my…”

“I’m sorry, my darling,” she says, running her fingers through his hair before she reaches into the front pocket of her apron and pulls out the Jedi toy, his button eyes seemingly sparkling at the sight of his soulmate again. “But I took your toy and hid him before Brendol could see. He’s alright. See? He’s happy to see you.”

Armitage gasps and swipes him from his mother’s hands, cuddling him close and wishing that he could stay like this forever; _not alone._

“Don’t let your father see it, Armitage.” She sits down on the bed beside her son and he leans against her, still hugging his soulmate-sign so tightly against his chest. “He doesn’t understand soulmates. They don’t make you weaker. They make you _stronger._ And I know that you’re going to find your Jedi one day and he’s going to make you so happy.”

Armitage hums, smiling and scrunching his eyes closed as he hugs his plush toy so hard, snuggling his cheek against the Jedi’s soft dark hair. He can feel butterflies coming alive in his belly again as he clutches his toy, wondering whether his soulmate is as happy as he is right now.

One day, Armitage thinks, one day he’s going to meet his soulmate and it’s going to be the best day of his _life._

__


	4. Chapter 4

Fire. Unrelenting, killing fire.

It blazes with menacing reds and oranges, bringing the most evil of lights to the grassland. Animals flee, birds bolt off into the distance whilst flames and smoke billow high into the night. The destruction can’t be stopped.

The blaze surrounds Ben completely, mind and body. It burns deep within his conflicted soul and it towers into the night as it greedily consumes the once-humble Jedi Temple.

Everything is destroyed.

Jedi Ben Solo stands barefoot in the middle of the raging carnage, wounded inside and out. His breaths come in the form of laboured gasps as he stares unseeingly at the ground below him, trying to process the last few moments through his turbulent mind; Uncle Luke has tried to murder him in his sleep. In defence, Ben parried his blow and brought down the roof of his hut on top of them both, injuring himself and presumably killing his traitorous uncle in the process. His body is littered in scuffs and cuts, his brown tunic scorched and torn in places. He can feel the lives of his fellow padawans being extinguished around him as they are fed to the flames but he doesn’t care. They are just as weak as Skywalker.

This is not where his destiny lies. His soulmate—

Ben looks up, blinking. He turns, staring at the pile of rubble that was once his own private shelter and he feels his heart shatter. His ginger General, his soulmate-sign, is amongst the debris. The toy has gone _everywhere_ with him since his 5th birthday, always in Ben’s hand or beside him in bed, cuddled and loved. No more.

“ _Ben, sweetheart,” Han says, eyeing his eight year old son from across the dinner table. “Does the little military man have to sit with us when we eat?”_

_Ben looks up from his dinner plate to where his General sits comfortable beside him on the table, resting against a glass of water though he’s slouching a little but not for long before Ben corrects his pose to a nice and straight one; Ben has a suspicion that his General wouldn’t approve of slouching._

_“Han,” Leia says quietly, knocking Han’s elbow. Luke, here visiting his family on Chandrila, also mutters his friend’s name._

_“What? I feel like I’m being watched by the damned Imperials at my own table!”_

_Ben pouts, taking hold of his General and hugging him, feeling protective all of a sudden as Han raises his voice. His woolly coat is soft in Ben’s hold, comforting like it has been for the last 3 years._

_“You both agree with me,” Han shrugs, “You both think that Ben’s toy is a bad sign.”_

_“What?” Ben feels his tummy twist in distress._

_“There’s a lot of darkness that surrounds your toy, young one,” Luke says, placing a reassuring hand on Ben’s arm, though it does nothing to actually comfort him. “Your parents are just worried about you.”_

_“My General is good!” Ben cries, standing up from the table and knocking his chair over in the process, causing a loud bang. “He’s my friend!”_

_Ben’s arms are wrapped so tightly around the toy General that it’s beginning to hurt but the sting of betrayal is much worse. His family would rather him be alone than have a soulmate?_

_“We aren’t saying that he can’t be your friend, Ben,” Leia says, standing from her seat too and crouching at Ben’s side but he doesn’t want to hug her or comfort from her. He just wants his General. “But remember the bad guys in the stories that Daddy and I tell you about? When we were fighting to save the galaxy? We think that your General might be one of those bad guys. Look at his uniform.”_

_“No!” Ben steps back, avoiding Leia’s touch._

_“Ben,” Luke says softly._

_“You don’t understand! You hate him! Which means that you hate me too!” Ben bursts into tears as he runs to his room, making the hallway lights flicker and thrum as he passes them. After he’s slammed his door, he throws himself onto his bed and weeps, looking into the facelessness of his wooden General._

_“I’m sorry,” Ben sniffles. “I’m sorry they were mean to you. But I’ll always like you, General. You’re my soulmate.”_

_The ginger General says nothing, of course, but Ben can feel something in the Force around him, something strong and hopeful. He can almost see a smile on the General’s face, and he hopes that it’ll be one day soon that he’ll be able to see his smile in reality._

The loss cuts Ben deep.

“No,” he whispers aloud to himself, clenching his fists. His heart feels emptier already, hoping that the fate of soulmate isn’t going to meet the same end as his beloved wooden toy. But it’s then that he feels something soft in his palm, looking down to see the toy General’s little, woolly greatcoat held safely in his grasp.

Ben bites his lip, thanking his lucky stars that at least part of his General has been saved. Even the little hexagonal emblem on its sleeve has remained intact. He looks up to the dark skies, now even darker as it fills with thick smoke from the Temple’s fire, and sees his path clearly laid out for him.

He learned long ago that the red, white and black hexagonal symbol upon the cap and sleeve of his General’s clothes is that of the First Order; Ben has just lacked the courage to investigate further because of his family’s moral high ground. But without their meddling and with his conscience well-and-truly silenced by his Uncle’s betrayal, Ben finds himself thinking of the First Order. If his soulmate is there, then that is where Ben must go.

He keeps the little coat clasped tightly in his hold, fearing to lose the only thing he has left of his soulmate.

Across the stars and upon a star destroyer in his private chambers, Lieutenant Hux shivers. A cold chill runs down his spine to his toes and bounces back up, making the fine, ginger hairs on his neck stand on end. He sits up in his bed, looking around the dark of his bedchambers until his gaze is drawn to his freshly-pressed greatcoat that hangs proudly upon his wardrobe.

It is the eve of his promotion to General, a day that he has waited for for a very long time. He feels as though a heavy weight has descended upon his shoulders, crushing him, but he assumes that it’s the natural nervousness that comes with the approaching grandeur of the next day.

He sighs, smiling at the lines of rank on his new coat and lies back down in his soft sheets, allowing himself to slip back into sweet dreams of a dark-haired Jedi.


	5. Chapter 5

From the moment that the freshly trained, heavily robed form of Kylo Ren steps from his ship and into the grand hangar bay of the _Finalizer_ and comes face-to-face with his new co-commander, he knows that the ginger General in front of him is his soulmate.

The sight of his toy in a real, life-sized form is completely overwhelming. It takes almost all of Kylo’s mental energy to stay standing and not fall to his knees in front of General Hux in _relief_ of finally finding him, having left the smouldering ruins of the Jedi Temple almost four months ago and joining the First Order in the silent hope that his soulmate will be waiting with open arms for him.

From behind the safety and privacy of his helmet, Kylo sports an embarrassing grin. He feels like a child again, waking up upon his fifth birthday to find that special toy created just for him and feeling that elation rush through his veins. It’s almost surreal, seeing a full-sized version of his beloved wooden General standing tall in front of him; if only Kylo could pull the little toy out of his pocket and _show_ him to the man before him but the wooden General is no doubt a pile of ash and ruin along with the rest of the Temple, but Kylo can remember his toy exactly. The General’s uniform is identical to that of Kylo’s lost toy; a pale face, a long and grey greatcoat that looks regal upon his form with the grand circles of white around his sleeve and a grey cap atop his head that hides bright ginger hair. Even his sideburns are real and ridiculous. He’s perfect in every way.

This is _it._

But before he can speak, the General cuts in first.

“Master Ren, welcome aboard the _Finalizer._ I am General Hux.”

 _Hux._ Kylo finally has his name—just his surname, mind, but ever since he was five, Kylo has resorted to calling his soulmate ‘General’, but not anymore.

It’s his turn to speak now but all words seem insignificant and insufficient to the monumental feelings that are swelling inside of his chest and making it hard for him to even breathe. He can do _nothing_ but stop and stare into Hux’s pale eyes, trying to count the flecks of green and blue that shine in his irises. All of the stars in the galaxy and Kylo is standing in front of the person who it cut from the same mould as he is.

“General Hux,” Kylo exhales, feeling a rush of adrenaline coarse through him as he speaks his soulmate’s name aloud for the very first time. “I—”

“There’ll be enough time for idle chat later, Master Ren,” Hux cuts in, even holding his palm up to halt Kylo’s voice. “I wanted to come down and personally introduce myself but I’m afraid I have an important meeting that requires my attention. If you don’t mind, I will excuse myself and leave you to get settled.”

All semblance of a smile quickly disappears from Kylo’s face, replaced with a look of horrific disappointment, as he watches Hux turn his back on him and walk away across the hangar, leaving Kylo standing alone; the one thing he thought he’d never feel in his soulmate’s presence is _alone._ But it’s as though he’s invisible now in the middle of the hangar bay, with stormtroopers and TIE pilots bustling around him as though he isn’t even there. Only droids linger beside him to show him to his new chambers but Kylo feels rooted to the spot.

The little greatcoat in the hidden pocket of his black tunic weighs heavy against him all of a sudden. He reaches for it with his trembling hand and pulls it out, staring at it and remembering how it fitted his wooden toy so well. Kylo looks up, getting one last glance at General Hux as he disappears into the turbolift without looking back whilst Kylo can do nothing _but_ stare at the back of his head and then down to the toy-sized coat in his palm. Behind him, the tail of Hux’s greatcoat swishes as he halts inside of the lift and the doors close slowly, taking him out of Kylo’s sight for good.

This isn’t how things were meant to go. Kylo has been _dreaming_ of this day since he was five years old, where he’d be standing in front of his ginger General, imagining every possible scenario about how their first meeting would play out. All of them were happy, all of them were hopeful and filled with overwhelming joy, all _but_ this one, the one where his soulmate doesn’t even want to know him.

But Hux will _know_ who Kylo _is,_ won’t he? Kylo’s soulmate-sign is the image of Hux—with his grey uniform and stripes of rank and his ginger hair—so somewhere in Hux’s chambers, there’ll be a treasured toy of a helmeted man dressed all in black with a red, cross-guarded lightsaber on his belt, and like all children, Hux will have spent every day since his fifth birthday looking at his toy and thinking about what his soulmate’s real name is and what it will be like when they meet.

So why has he abandoned Kylo in the hangar bay instead of sweeping him into the most longing, desperate embrace that two souls have ever shared? Why has he _interrupted_ Kylo before he could even utter a ‘ _hello’_ to him? Part of Kylo wants to smash everything in anger, in _outrage_ at the rejection from Hux but the lonely, _Ben Solo_ part of him who’s still clinging onto life inside of his conflicted soul is heartbroken, drowning in sorrow at the loneliness that now seems permanent. He thought he’d shed that cloak of solitude when he joined the First Order with the knowledge that his soulmate was part of the organisation, feeling his heart leap in his chest when he first set eyes upon the infamous, hexagonal symbol of the First Order in the flesh and not just on the shoulder of his toy’s greatcoat.

“Take me to my rooms,” he orders the two droids, who quickly chirp their acknowledgment of his command and begin to wheel away with Kylo close behind, his strides long and heavy.

He’s alone again. But this time, it feels as though it's for good.


	6. Chapter 6

The meeting with High Command goes as well as expected with Hux leading the delivery of the report entailing the First Order’s latest planetary acquisitions. Their galactic conquest is going as planned, according to Hux’s figures and projections, enough to mean that the First Order is creeping out of the shadows to steal political power in places where the New Republic reign. It’s enough to send shivers of anticipation down Hux’s spine as he packs up his projectors and datapad at the end of the meeting whilst holograms of the non-present High Command members fizzle out, leaving empty chairs and at a now empty table.

Funny, Hux thinks as he exits the conference chamber and begins to walk the short way across the ship to his private chambers, that he felt just as lonely in the packed room as he does now, with only a few faceless officers passing him and saluting. He sighs, letting his mind drift and dwell on the grand notion of soulmates as a group of stormtroopers march past him on their patrol, inclining their helmeted heads at him in respect.

To the rest of the First Order, soulmates are forbidden. It’s only a result of his mother’s quick lie and his own concealment of his special Jedi toy that Hux has managed to keep his soulmate a secret for so long; a lie that his beloved mother took to her grave upon a battle on Arkanis just weeks after his fifth birthday.

But with a roll of his shoulders and a deep sigh, General Hux pushes those thoughts of his mother’s final moments from his mind, feeling tears threatening to show themselves upon his cheeks. That battle, the mob charging their home, isn’t how Hux wants to remember her. He keeps the memory of her talking to him about his soulmate toy on the morning of his fifth birthday very close to his heart, at the forefront of his mind to keep himself strong in the face of such crippling loneliness. She wouldn’t want him to be so sad.

He blames Vader for the Order’s ban on soulmates; if _he_ hadn’t become unhealthily obsessed with Padmé Amidala— _his_ one, true soulmate—then perhaps Emperor Palpatine wouldn’t have decreed that no member of the Galactic Empire shall be permitted to search for or _be with_ their intended ones. Hux has seen the propaganda from the Empire, posters and speeches declaring soulmates as nothing but distractions and weakness to exploit, therefore forbidden and punishable by death on order of the Emperor himself. Even now, decades after the end of the Empire and the rise of the First Order, their vile, outdated views on soulmates being a ‘distraction’ have been carried forward. It’s all nonsense to Hux; he _knows_ that the search for his soulmate has made him stronger, more determined and resolute against opposition all to make his soulmate proud of him—whenever fate will have them meet.

For now, holding his little Jedi toy will have to do.

He slips inside of his private chambers and feels the pressures and stresses of the day lift from his burdened shoulders, even more so when he takes off his greatcoat and hangs it up upon a specially-made clothes hangar upon the wall. Whilst his chambers may be the largest on the ship, they aren’t to be bragged about. His bed is pushed against the left wall, its black headboard polished and pristine. His ice-blue couch beckons him to rest upon it, though he moseys into the adjoining kitchenette first to collect his pre-made cup of piping hot caf from the machine on the countertop.

“What a day,” he says aloud, sighing heavily as he sits down on his couch and kicks off his boots—but making sure they stand neatly upon the floor. “Meetings galore. They’re ever so boring when I’m not in charge of them.”

Hux takes a sip of his drink before standing up, his socked-feet making no noise as he walks to his bed, his gaze resting upon the little plush that sits proudly atop his pillows.

“And I suppose you’ve had a busy day too, hmm?” Hux sets down his caf on the bedside table and picks up his beloved Jedi toy, twirling his finger around the padawan braid that rests upon the toy’s shoulder. “Being a Jedi in this age must come with its stresses. You aren’t exactly being treated _nicely_ by the First Order.”

He imagines the Jedi’s response being deadpan; just the sense of humour that Hux believes his soulmate would have.

“You’re still out there, aren’t you?” Hux sits the toy on his lap, straightening out his little robes and making him comfy. “A man known as _the Jedi Killer_ came on board today. Snoke told me about the massacre he committed at his temple, all the students he slaughtered in his anger. If…if you were there, if you were killed, I would have felt something, wouldn’t I?”

Hux bites his lip, having thought about this very scenario when he came face-to-face with the infamous Kylo Ren earlier today. He couldn’t help but act coldly towards the masked man, having convinced himself that _he_ is the reason why Hux’s soulmate hasn’t burst into his life and swept him off of his feet like he’s dreamt about. Even now, as he gives his little soulmate-sign a kiss on the top of his fuzzy, brown head, he can’t fight the images that are coming into his mind; he can see his beloved Jedi, tall and porcelain-skinned, fighting with his blue lightsaber and getting his lovely robes all covered in dirt as he tries to defend himself against Kylo Ren, against the Jedi Killer, but fails.

It’s the only time where Hux has found himself rooting for the light side.

“Where are you?” Hux whispers softly, staring into the two brown, button eyes of his soulmate-sign and knowing that he isn’t going to get a reply. He lifts the toy to his chest and cuddles it close to him, feeling comforted and calmed like he _always_ does when he holds his beloved Jedi-plush like this; if only it were the real thing.

His father must be laughing at him from one of the seven Hells. He was right about Armitage; _alone forever._


	7. Chapter 7

Over the course of the next thirteen days, Kylo becomes somewhat of a stalker. His head is telling him that General Hux _cannot be_ his soulmate, or else he would have leapt into Kylo’s arms upon their very first meeting almost a fortnight ago, but his heart is screaming to not let Hux go. He has to hold onto hope—annoyingly—and find out _why_ Hux hasn’t reacted to him in the way that he thought.

Memory loss? Hux could have _forgotten_ what his soulmate is meant to look like. Toy confiscation? Kylo has heard stories and rumours of how _vile_ Brendol Hux could be to his only son, so it seems plausible that the old Commandant could have stolen and _incinerated_ Hux’s toy before the boy even set his eyes on it on the morning of his fifth birthday.

‘ _Or maybe he just doesn’t want you.’_

Kylo isn’t sure who the voice in his head belongs to but it tries to be louder than his ever-aching heart, though it fails for the first time since he can remember. Its words are insignificant in comparison to the yearning he feels so deep within himself that he’s sure that his Force-aura is trembling too. He sits alone in his chambers one evening, riddled with worry and having just fought to keep down a meal, all whilst holding his General’s little, woolly greatcoat in his gloved hands, kneading the material between his fingers as though he’s a cat trying to calm himself.

It never fails to soothe him.

“Where are you?” Kylo speaks quietly to the little coat, imagining his wooden General wearing it. He’d been so happy when he found the toy on the floor of his bedroom when he was just a child, like his destiny had been laid out before him and _obstacles be damned,_ he was going to find his soulmate even if it meant turning to the dark side.

So far, he’s just as alone as he was the night that the temple was destroyed. Now, all he has is his toy’s coat to remember him by and a new name for himself, neither of which feel like victories to the lonely Knight.

It’s just past 1700 hours on board the impressive _Finalizer,_ meaning most of the important members of the alpha shift are back in their chambers and awaiting the arrival of their evening meals, and of course, General Hux is the most important of _all_ of that shift. He’s likely inside of his chambers now, enjoying a whiskey or a red wine—Hux’s preferred tipple, Kylo has found out—all alone, just like Kylo. He clutches the little greatcoat in his palm; Hux’s private rooms are only a few doors the corridor from Kylo’s. What would be the harm in frequenting the General’s chambers and making pleasantries? Soulmates aside, they’re co-commanders of the same ship, allies of the same side. Would it be such a terrible thing for Kylo to visit Hux under the guise of wanting to become _comrades?_ That way, at least Kylo would be able to study Hux up close and deduce the real reasons behind him ignoring the cosmic pull of their entwined souls.

Kylo stands, ready. His mind is made up.

After gently folding his toy’s greatcoat and sliding into the pocket of his tunic, Kylo adorns his boots and his helmet before exiting his chambers with a faux-confidence to each of his steps. He strides out, attempting to convince himself of his tenacity in the face of the aggressive butterflies that are dominating his gut.

What if Hux turns him away? What if this is all Hux’s choice? _Choosing_ to ignore Kylo in favour of, perhaps, another man? _Can_ people reject their soulmates? Kylo’s mind races with increasingly bleak questions but his thoughts disperse into nothingness as he finds himself stood in front of Hux’s door, knocking with more grace than he ever thought he could possess in his fists.

When there’s no answer, he knocks again, albeit a little harder, but there’s still no reply. Kylo turns his head and presses the side of his mask against the door, hearing nothing and sensing nothing with the aid of the Force. He sighs; he’s pumped himself up for nothing, then. Hux isn’t home, most _likely_ still on shift somewhere on the ship, so it’s back to his own chambers to wallow in his own pitiful loneliness until he can pluck up the courage to talk to his soulmate again.

Kylo swallows hard. _No_. Something inside of him, deep within his _bones,_ is pulling him inside. He looks down to his hands and opens his palms, feeling the Force flittering around him like tiny electrical sparks, so raw and desperate that it’s making his hands shake. In all of his years of hoping and wishing that time would _hurry up_ and bring his soulmate to him, Kylo has never felt so _damned_ close to the truth. Despite his senses telling him otherwise, it’s as though Hux _is_ on the other side of the door with all of the answers that Kylo desires.

Breaking and entering has never seemed so rewarding.

Opening the door is easy with the Force. Kylo gets into his usual stance—with one foot in front of the other and his knees slightly bent—and calls forward his immense powers, using them to bust open the lock on the door in a tiny puff of smoke as the mechanics overheat and explode. The door slides open as though Kylo has entered the keycode. He could have easily just as hotwired the control panel—a trick he learned from Han Solo when he was still young—but using his powers makes him feel stronger, and he needs all of the strength he can get as he takes a step forward into Hux’s chambers upon his trembling knees.

The first thing that Kylo takes notice of is the size of the rooms. Whilst he and Hux may be matched in rank, the General’s chambers are bigger than Kylo’s, big enough for an ugly, ice-blue sofa in the middle. Even the kitchenette is larger, with the added perk of a caf-maker on the counter. Nothing is out of place in the sizeable chambers; in fact, it looks as though it isn’t _lived_ in. There’s nothing personal here, no signs that someone with a heart and soul occupies this space.

It’s then that Kylo sees _it_ , and everything else in the galaxy around him _stops_.

It’s Hux’s soulmate-sign. It _must_ be. Kylo freezes on the spot, feeling his chest suddenly cave in with every breath. He’s staring at the little object that sits proudly on top of the pillows on Hux’s bed, resting there like it’s the only place it belongs.

A Jedi toy.

Kylo can feel his body trembling as he steps closer, analysing every part of the toy with his confused gaze. It looks soft, with a mess of dark brown hair atop its head with the unmistakable shape of a padawan braid hanging down and resting on a shoulder, tucked neatly behind one of the toy’s large ears. Brown robes, a thick belt and a little _blue_ lightsaber finish off the toy’s distinctive look, and it stares back at Kylo with two large, brown button-eyes as though questioning him.

Ben Solo. The _bane_ of Kylo’s existence. He’s the part of Kylo’s soul that refuses to die in the shadows like Snoke had commanded him to, like Kylo had _wanted_ him to on the night of the temple massacre. Everything about his old life had been left behind in the ruins of the fire, smouldering as Kylo walked away from it, thinking that he left Ben to die there too. Yet, all this time, Ben has been kept alive by Hux, their souls entwined by the very stars themselves to find peace in each other.

How much of Kylo is _Ben_? All of him, it would seem, as Kylo takes hold of the little Jedi toy and tears begin to stream down his cheeks from behind the safety of his mask. The plush is an exact image of him from his youth; shorter hair, of course, but even the _length_ of the braid seems to sit precisely upon the toy’s shoulders as it did on his own. It’s surreal, it’s magical, it’s—

It makes sense now. The last piece of the puzzle that _is_ ‘Kylo Ren’s soulmate’ falls perfectly into place and completes the bigger picture; Hux isn’t looking for an intimidating figure in black robes and a foreboding mask. He’s looking for a Jedi with soft, messy hair and brown eyes. He’s waiting for the day where a mission brings him planetside to a temple where he’ll find a tall, pale-skinned Jedi in brown robes and the stars will _align._ Hux is waiting for something that is never going to happen…unless Kylo can _make_ it happen. Whilst holding the Jedi toy in one hand, Kylo reaches into his pocket and pulls out his General’s greatcoat, bringing his two hands together to see the soulmate-signs next to each other, and it’s as though a fire alights in his gut.

“ _Get out._ ”

Kylo flinches, turning around and seeing Hux standing behind him with his blaster aimed right at Kylo’s chest. The General looks red with rage, his cap so low on his brow that it casts an intimidating-looking shadow over his pale eyes.

“It’s me,” Kylo says softly, barely audible through the vocoder of his helmet but Hux still hears.

“I know it’s you, _you fool,_ ” he says through angered, gritted teeth. “How dare you enter my chambers without permission. You _will_ forget what you’ve seen here, so put _him_ down and _get out._ ”

“No,” Kylo says. He sets the Jedi and the greatcoat down on Hux’s bed and reaches up for his helmet, unclasping the sides with a _hissss_ and pulling it off of his head, revealing his face to another human being since he first adorned it upon the night of the massacre. His soft, messy hair falls perfectly into place around his pale face, and blinks a few times to allow his eyes to adjust to the freedom from his mask. “It’s _me._ ”

Silence falls like a tonne of bricks. The redness disappears from Hux’s face in a flash, draining away and leaving his cheeks looking cold and pale, and his blaster-wielding arm falters, lowering as the reality of Kylo’s words settle in.

“You can’t be.” Hux’s gaze jumps from Kylo’s eyes to where the toy lies on his bed. “He’s a Jedi.”

“I was, once. Before this. I even had a blue lightsaber.”

“No. No, it can’t be you. You don’t look anything like—” But he stops when Kylo holds the toy again, looking down at it before presenting him to Hux as though comparing himself; the dark hair, the dark eyes, but Hux still doesn’t look convinced. “Get off of him. Give him to me.”

“Why would I lie?” Kylo asks, shrugging, trying _so_ hard to hold himself together in the face of obvious rejection when Hux snatches the toy out of his hands.

“To get ahead of me. To control me. I don’t know you, Ren, but your reputation proceedes you.”

“That’s not fair. I don’t know you either but I know that this is _me._ ”

“You’re the Jedi Killer, aren’t you?”

Kylo pouts, “Some have called me that. Yes.”

“Did you kill _him_?” Hux huffs, eyes brimming with tears. “Is that why you’re doing this? _Guilt_?”

“His name is Ben,” Kylo says. “Ben Solo.”

It brings him unexpected relief to be able to say _that name_ again, like the cage has been unlocked and the captive bird is free to spread its wings again and soar. His soul has never felt so calm in the face of such uncertainty.

“ _Ben,_ ” Hux whispers, looking down with affectionate eyes at his soulmate-sign, finally having a name for his toy. Through the Force, Kylo can sense Hux’s sudden elation like a punch to the gut though the happy emotion doesn’t linger; soon enough, Hux’s palpable frustration and confusion are back to fill the air around them. “You realise that this would mean that _you_ are the son of Leia Organa-Solo.”

Kylo hesitates without meaning to, “I…am.”

But Hux scoffs. “And you expect me to _believe_ that our Supreme Leader would allow the offspring of such rebel scum to infiltrate our ranks and become his apprentice?”

“It’s not like that. I’m not that person anymore.”

“So you _aren’t_ him?” Hux holds up his Jedi toy, its plushie head flopping over as though to cast a judging look upon Kylo.

“Uh. Not exactly. It’s not…it’s not simple. It’s complicated.”

“Then _un_ -complicate it.”

Kylo sighs, feeling a bit at a loss. Words have never been his strong point anyway, always preferring actions, but everything is failing him right now. He can’t tell whether his heart is beating too slow or too fast, feeling short of breath and numb all over as he stares at Hux and waits for _that moment_ to strike as it should when two soulmates are meeting.

Something on the bed catches his eye. His General’s little greatcoat still rests there where Kylo had dropped it upon finding Hux’s blaster aimed at him, so he picks it up and cradles it gently in his palm, brushing over it and making sure that it’s neat and tidy. He holds his hand open to Hux, showing him it.

“What is that?” Hux asks, turning his nose up.

“It’s all that’s left of _my_ toy,” Kylo says quietly. “He was a wooden General with red hair and a grey uniform. He was my best friend. I lost him.”

There’s a flicker of _something_ in Hux’s eyes for a moment, but Kylo manages to catch it before it disappears. _Hope_ ; that familiar emotion that Kylo has tried so hard to extinguish from himself, and it looks beautiful in Hux’s eyes. It’s a sparkle, a familiar look as though he recognises the little coat and is _happy_ to see it.

But everything fades.

“I _can’t_ believe you,” Hux says, stepping back. “You’ve been here for weeks now. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me. I thought you knew who I was but you were choosing to _not want_ me.”

“I…” Hux drops his blaster to the floor and holds his Jedi in both hands, his thumbs touching the toy’s soft, plush hands. “I don’t want you. I want _him_.”

“I am him, Hux. I promise. You can feel it too, I know you can.”

Anticipation fills Kylo’s veins, expecting Hux to drop the Jedi toy to the floor and leap into his arms, sealing their union with the most passionate, desperate kiss that two souls have ever shared with each other. But it’s too good to be true, like everything in his life.

“Leave,” Hux says, shattering the silence and Kylo’s heart with just a single word. “Please, Ren. I just want to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be alone anymore, Hux,” Kylo says, voice cracking, his tone sounding like he’s _begging._

“I want to be. I want to be alone.”

Hux’s words don’t tally in Kylo’s mind. How could someone _want_ to be alone when their _soulmate_ is in front of them, begging to be seen, to be loved? What now? Kylo’s heart is breaking but his mind is reeling with what he can do next; he survived his uncle’s cold-hearted attempt to murder him in his sleep, he isn’t going to sit back and watch the _only_ good thing in his life be taken from him.

He sweeps past Hux, leaving the little greatcoat and his helmet on the bed. No more words, just actions. He’s _this close_ to fulfilling his destiny and uniting with the one who is cut from the same mould as him, the one who was born from the same stars. If Hux won’t listen then Kylo will _show_ him.


	8. Chapter 8

If Kylo hadn’t broken his damned door, Hux would be slamming it shut right now.

The _audacity_ of that man, to claim that _he_ is Hux’s soulmate without any proof—except for an old-looking coat from a toy that could have come from _anywhere._ The moment that Kylo Ren had stepped off of his ship and into Hux’s presence, the stars should have shone so brightly that there could be no mistaking the pair of them for soulmates. Hux should have felt his stomach twist and his heart thud in his ears, he should have had a cosmic urge to kiss the man in front of him. Hux didn’t have _any_ of that. No jitters, no butterflies, not even a smile.

Or perhaps he’s hyped it up so much inside of his lonely mind that he’s been in a fantasy world, creating a _perfect_ scenario upon meeting his soulmate for the first time, when life is anything _but_ perfect.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at,” Hux says, putting his Jedi toy down on the couch next to him. “This is all your fault.”

Like always, the toy says nothing, though he slides down and flops over, lying on his back to stare up at Hux with his button eyes, looking as though he’s ready to listen intensely to whatever Hux needs to get off of his chest.

“He must be lying,” Hux shakes his head, tucking his legs underneath him, feeling like a child again on the morning of his fifth birthday, introducing himself to his soulmate-sign for the very first time. “He doesn’t look like you. Uh. Well. He does, I suppose. Except the outfit. But if he _is_ my soulmate, I would know. And I don’t. _I don’t know._ ”

He hadn’t even known what Kylo Ren actually looked like until he took of his helmet just a few moments ago…and, _oh,_ what a handsome face. Such dark eyes, such perfectly fallen hair. A man who couldn’t be mistaken for anything but the son of Leia and Han Organa-Solo. He has her eyes, Han’s chin, their combined determination and fiery spirits. All that, taken from a few minutes in Kylo’s presence. No _wonder_ he chooses to wear a mask; he’s an open book, or maybe Hux can just read him that easily.

“He said that your name is Ben,” Hux sits the toy back up so he’s comfortable against the back of the couch, his fingers lingering on the Jedi’s padawan braid, playing with it like he always does by twirling it around his fingers. “Is that bit true, at least? Is any of it? Or is _all of it_ true? And I’ve just pushed away the one person in the galaxy who is meant to love me?”

He thinks of that very first day when he was four years old, walking home with NAN-E and hearing the word ‘soulmate’ for the first time, and feeling like an army of butterflies had been released in his tummy but that fluttering and twisting hadn’t compared to the boundless feelings of friendship and _togetherness_ that overtook his heart and made him feel like the most important person in the galaxy.

But now, he’s alone in his chambers again, having fought against all logic that’s told him just who Kylo Ren really is, all in favour of some extravagant reveal. Kylo had been in front of him and practically begging him to take notice of him, and Hux had ignored him then asked him to leave him alone. Foolish, he thinks. Hux runs his hands through his hair and exhales in a shuddering breath. What is he to _do_?

“Should I go after him?” Hux asks his toy, talking in a hushed tone. He picks him up, willing him to speak. “Should I leave him be? I don’t know what to do.”

“I know.”

For the briefest of moments, Hux believes that all of his wishing has brought his toy to life. He thinks that he has finally spoken back to him but the deep voice came from across the room, taking Hux’s gaze away from the Jedi plush to where a figure stands in the doorway, hovering hesitantly. The General has to double-take whilst one thought crosses his mind; perhaps his toy _has_ been given life.

The man is dressed in brown robes, a tunic-style outfit with a thick belt around his middle, though they look as though they’ve seen better days, dotted with mud and scorched in places and filled with deep creases as though it’s been scrunched up and tossed under the bed to be forgotten about. Atop his head is a mess of dark hair, a padawan braid resting on one of his shoulders but neatly tucked behind one of his cutely large ears. His soft, brown eyes stare at Hux with a tender sparkle, turning his knees inwards awkwardly as though shy. It’s as though the stars themselves have breathed life into Hux’s Jedi toy and given him to him in the flesh, tall and handsome, just like Hux dreamed.

“It’s me,” Kylo says, repeating those same words from before with the same amount of confidence but with more desperation; a last-ditch attempt at making Hux understand. He looks so much younger with his hair cut short—Hux can _smell_ the seared hair, likely by his lightsaber—and in non-black clothing.

Hux can’t find any words in his mind, only emotion; sheer relief and bliss. Leaving his Jedi toy on the couch, he stands up on trembling legs and closes the gap between himself and Kylo until they’re almost chest-to-chest. Each step feels like heaven, like coming home, and Hux can’t believe that he almost _missed_ it.

“It’s you,” Hux breathes, looking Kylo up and down in awe. He can’t resist; he reaches up and twirls his fingers around Kylo’s padawan braid, smiling. “My Jedi.”

“My General,” Kylo replies, running his hand down Hux’s arm, feeling the proud First Order patch underneath his touch and then down to the lines of rank upon his greatcoat. “I knew it was you.”

“I’ve carried you with me all of my life,” Hux says, glancing back over his shoulder to where his toy is left on the couch, watching them both. “And I almost lost you.”

“You couldn’t,” Kylo whispers, leaning in to press his forehead against Hux’s, smiling. “I’m difficult to get rid of.”

Hux smiles too, amused by Kylo’s sense of humour, and feeling as though he’s going to keep smiling forever now that they’ve found each other.

As though they’re two old souls who’ve been kept separated for centuries, Hux swallows his pride and makes the first move, reaching to hold Kylo’s pale cheek in his palm, bringing their lips together desperately, reaching to take hold of one of his soulmate’s hands. It’s a deep kiss, hungry to finally taste each other after waiting so long to be here. He feels Kylo kiss back with equal force, making Hux tilt his chin up into the kiss as Kylo’s hand takes hold of his other, and Hux feels something _click_ inside of him, as though the last puzzle piece has been found and completed the picture. It’s almost overwhelming, but it’s by far the greatest thing Hux has ever felt. He feels the same tingling in his fingertips as he did when he first held his Jedi toy on the morning of his fifth birthday, the

Hux can’t concentrate on anything else but Kylo’s presence, both physically and inside of his soul. He can’t explain how he can feel Kylo _inside_ of him but he can, as though there’s now a flickering flame inside of his chest that represents Kylo, burning just for him. This is how he’d imagined it would be when he’d woken to the Jedi toy upon his pillow, when his beloved mother had told him _‘_ _Soulmates don’t make you weaker. They make you stronger. And I know that you’re going to find your Jedi one day and he’s going to make you so happy.’_ He wishes she were still alive to tell her about Kylo, about _everything_.

Kylo pulls away from the kiss first. Hux opens his eyes to see that the world is brighter than it’s ever been. Kylo is _radiant;_ his dark eyes are on fire, obviously feeling the same pull on their souls that Hux is.

They say nothing for a moment, just basking in each other’s glow whilst staring deeply, taking in the other’s form; Hux even begins to count the moles on Kylo’s face.

“Where did you get this?” Hux says after another few moments of passionate eye-contact. “These robes. They look as though they’ve seen better days.”

Kylo’s happy expression falters, looking down at himself, “They’re from the night of the temple fire. The night I left everything to come and find you. The only things I have left from that life are these clothes and my General’s little greatcoat.”

“You don’t need anything else, Ren,” Hux says, seeing that Kylo is beginning to fight back tears. “Every choice we’ve ever made has been right because it’s led us to this moment. I’ve waited my _life_ to find you and…I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you.”

“You believe me now,” Kylo slides his hands around Hux’s waist and pulls him close. “That’s what matters.”

“You even cut your hair for me.” Hux ruffles the short bits of hair that now barely cover Kylo’s ears, a feature that makes him look just like the toy on the couch.

“I had to make you see me.”

“Ben,” Hux sighs. “And Kylo Ren.”

“The same person,” Kylo says. “Hux’s soulmate.”

“ _Armitage_ Hux’s soulmate.”

“That’s your first name?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Kylo smiles a toothy grin and steals another kiss from Hux, giggling as their lips meet. He pulls away after a moment, “I love it.”

He was certain before, but now Hux _knows_ for an absolute definite that Kylo is his soulmate; no other being in the galaxy besides a _mother_ could like his first name, yet Kylo keeps on repeating it to him with a smile on his face, as though it’s the only word that he ever wants to say again.

A rough beginning makes for a beautiful ending, Hux thinks, taking Kylo’s hand and leading him back to the couch.

“I want to know everything about you,” Kylo says, sitting so close to Hux that their hips touch. “Everything. _Anything._ ”

“Only if you do the same once I’m done,” Hux sits back, getting comfortable. “I want to know what I’ve missed.”

“Deal,” Kylo smiles.

And once Hux starts talking, he notices the same glint in Kylo’s dark eyes as his toy-counterpart did as though listening intensely and with nothing but wild and deep admiration.

For the first time in his _life,_ Armitage Hux doesn’t feel lonely.


	9. Chapter 9

_|......7 Months Later.....|  
_

Their chambers on the _Finalizer_ are always warm, even at the dawn of alpha shift. The tall, ceiling-to-floor windows showcase the graceful passing of the stars, their light kissing durasteel of the passing Star Destroyer. In the General’s chambers in the housing deck, Kylo Ren is waking up to the gentle sounds of his soulmate’s humming, of his fingers brushing through his unruly dark hair, and the smell of a piping hot cup of caf on his bedside dresser.

It’s his twenty-sixth birthday. And Kylo knows what awaits him on the other side of the bed.

“Good morning, Ren,” Hux whispers softly when he stirs, blinking awake to the ice-white shine of the artificial lights. “And happy birthday.”

Kylo is greeted to a beautiful sight; his pre-morning routine soulmate looking down at him from where he sits on the other side of their bed, a red box with a golden bow resting in his lap. Hux’s copper hair is tousled and messy from sleep, as though he’s woken up and fussed about in a hurry, making Kylo some caf before sitting patiently on the bed for him to wake up.

“Good morning,” Kylo replies, sitting up and pouting, seeking a kiss. He gets one, a quick peck on the lips. “And thank you.”

“I know we were going to wait until after my shift finishes to celebrate properly,” Hux says, placing the present in Kylo’s lap. “But I couldn’t wait to give you this.”

Hux leans over and gives Kylo another kiss, on his temple this time and he lingers for a moment too long for it to just be a _happy birthday_ kiss. It feels more meaningful, sending a shiver across Kylo’s skin and down his spine; whatever is in this box is making Hux emotional too. Without waiting another moment, Kylo lifts the lid of the box and takes a deep breath to prepare himself but he couldn’t have prepared himself enough for what lies upon a red velvet pillow inside of the box.

It’s a wooden toy. Faceless, with a head of fuzzy ginger hair that’s flattened underneath a grey cap. The craftsmanship is almost flawless, like the sun, moon and stars who gifted him his first toy have given him a second one to love and cherish. Kylo picks up the toy and stares at it, feeling that welcomed, usual stirring inside of his gut. The weight of the toy in his hand is so familiar that it brings tears to his eyes straight away.

“How…?” Kylo says, struggling for other words.

“It wasn’t fair that your toy was taken from you in that fire,” Hux says, reaching to adjust the cap on the wooden General’s head so it’s neat and straight. “So I had him made for you.”

“He looks exactly like the one I lost. How did you know?”

Hux shrugs, smiling, “A hunch. He’s just missing something important.”

Kylo’s heart soars higher than ever before. With the aid of the Force, he pulls open the drawer of his bedside cabinet and fetches the little woolly greatcoat that has been kept safe in there ever since he adorned his old Jedi robes and stood in front of Hux and _showed_ him just how they’re meant to be. The tiny coat may have grown coarse and rough with age but as Kylo slides it onto the little General, it looks as good as new.

“This is…” Kylo sniffles. “This is the best thing that I’ve ever gotten. Thank you, Hux. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Say that you’ll join me in the shower, my beloved,” Hux slides his hand up Kylo’s arm, over his strong bicep and shoulder to touch his neck, rubbing over a love-bite that he left on Kylo’s skin the night before. “Maybe we can celebrate your birthday a little more in there.”

Kylo feels his cheeks beginning to blush as arousal spreads through him, eagerly getting out of bed to lock lips with his soulmate once more. Behind them, the Force makes their bed for them, pulling the covers over neatly and arranging the pillows in perfect position as Kylo moves his fingers to command his powers into creating domestic beauty.

“Cheater,” Hux mutters into the kiss, making Kylo smirk.

“Jealous,” Kylo says, pulling apart to admire the way Hux rolls his eyes at him.

And like every morning for the past seven months, Hux reaches for his soulmate-sign, taking him off of the nightstand to set him down comfortably on the top of the bed.

“He’s finally got someone to keep him company,” Kylo says, taking hold of his new wooden General and placing him next to the Jedi, putting him where he finally belongs.

“I know how he feels,” Hux says,

As the two soulmates grab hold of each other’s hand and walk into the refresher with nothing on their mind but the other’s happiness, they don’t see the little wooden General fall against the Jedi, leaning on his shoulder as though he’s sighing in contentment.

Together, at last. Above them, the stars smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!
> 
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